


The End

by SherKat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Misunderstandings, Post-Season/Series 04, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherKat/pseuds/SherKat
Summary: After the fiasco at Sherrinford and Musgrave Hall, Sherlock is more than a bit not good.And John has yet to learn that words, especially thoughtless ones spoken in haste, can cut very deeply indeed.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> If the characters seem a little too much out of character, I blame Eurus.

After Sherrinford, Sherlock stays with John and Rosie while Baker Street is being rebuilt. To say that things are strained between them is putting it mildly. There is no talking. There are no ‘looks’ between them. There is hardly any interaction at all. There seems to be an invisible wall surrounding the detective as John protects his daughter and his sanity from the chaos he blames his once-best friend for.

They both go back to seeing Ella, individually and together. Ella knows their history, from both sides. Ella is not a secret Holmes sibling. Ella has never been employed by Moriarty or any of his network. Ella has been vetted by Mycroft years ago. Ella is safe.

It happens at one of their joint sessions. As always, it comes back to the Fall. John cannot and will not let go of his feelings of betrayal and makes his point as loudly as ever. Ella’s attempts to keep the lines of communication open are failing miserably. Sherlock is done.

There is nothing else Sherlock can say about the Fall. He has explained. He has apologized. Over and over again, despite his hatred of repetition – anything for John Watson. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. It will never _be_ enough.

Sherlock has his own issues after Sherrinford. His entire life has been proven to be a lie. His one constant truth, his own mind, has thoroughly betrayed him. He is totally adrift. Who is he? What is he? Will any more psychotic siblings show themselves? The only anchor he has ever trusted to guide him through society’s maze was John Watson, who is no longer available to him. Tantalizingly just out of reach, radiating rage and fury at all times.

Enough. If John wishes to remain stuck in the past, that is truly not Sherlock’s problem. They have both been through so much more trauma since then, and yet John remains stuck at the Fall. Sherlock’s psyche has been so gutted recently that he has absolutely nothing left to offer to John. He is done.

“Enough!” Sherlock roars, cutting off John’s rant. “We both know what I did. We both know why I did it. Continuing to re-hash the past is not going to change anything. I don’t know what else you want from me, John.” His voice breaks on his friend’s name, as he gets quiet and dejected. “What do you want me to do, John? Tell me. I am so lost right now, I don’t know who I am or what to do. So, you tell me. What do you want me to do? Tell me, and I will try my hardest to do that for you.”

John is still breathing heavily after being interrupted. He leans his elbows on his knees and holds his head in his hands. “I don’t know, Sherlock. Right now, I wish it would all go away. Just, go away.”

The tension in the room snaps to the other side. Ella sits at her desk holding her breath, watching the two men to see what will transpire. John is still looking at the floor, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to ease the ache there. Sherlock is frozen in place. He blinks once, twice, a third time. He exhales, and gives himself a small nod, then stands up silently and walks out of the room.


	2. The Going - Part 1

_Molly_

Sherlock stands outside of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, staring at the building. So much of his life happened here—the Work for NSY, his experiments in the lab, meeting John Watson, and then one miscalculated fall from the rooftop that ruined the lives of so many people.

When he has made his peace with his memories, Sherlock enters the building and heads for the morgue. Molly is there, elbows-deep in a body, goggles over her eyes, bloody apron and gloves. She looks up as Sherlock enters. “Sherlock! I don’t really have anything for you today, is there something coming in from the Yard?”

He shakes his head. “Molly, I need to say something.” She puts down the organ she was weighing, jots down a quick notation, disposes of her bloody gloves and walks around the table to him, looking at him expectantly.

Sherlock looks at the floor and shuffles his feet, uncomfortable with the need to put words to his emotions. “Molly, I…,” he stutters, “I apologize. I knew of your feelings and manipulated you for my own purposes, risking your employment and your friendship. I was selfish, and I am sorry.” He looks up at her and takes both of her hands in his. “And I need to thank you. You saved my life and protected the others at great risk to your sanity and to your relationships with them. You have remained a loyal and true friend to me through all this time, showing me my own failings through your gifts of friendship and affection. You have truly been a much better friend than I have deserved. Thank you, Molly Hooper.” He bends down and kisses her on the cheek, then turns and strides purposefully out the door.

Molly watches him go in shocked silence, then shrugs and mutters to herself, “I guess it’s just Sherlock being Sherlock. Nice of him to say so, though. It must be John’s influence.” She puts on fresh gloves and returns to the body on the table.

 

_Greg_

Sherlock exits the cab in front of New Scotland Yard, and takes a moment to study the building, remembering the cases both good and bad, and how much of a part John Watson played in them all. After a few minutes he shakes himself and enters the building, heading directly for DI Lestrade’s office while ignoring everyone else in his path.

Lestrade glances up from his never-ending pile of paperwork as he hears Sherlock coming down the hall towards him. “Nothing, today, Sherlock. Not even a two.”

Sherlock enters the office and closes the door behind him. “Greg, I need to say something.” Surprised by both the closing of the door and the correct use of his name, Lestrade puts down his pen and nods at the chair in front of his desk, giving the detective his full attention.

Sherlock shakes his head and remains standing. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his Belstaff and begins. “You risked your career by taking a chance on me when I was nothing but a smartarse junkie. You held me accountable for my actions and gave me a purpose. You have helped me to become the man I am today, and I don’t believe I have been properly appreciative of that. And despite all the grief I have given you over the years, you have still offered me your hand in friendship. Thank you, Greg.” He held out his hand for the DI to shake, then turned and exited the way he had come in.

Lestrade shook his head as he watched the detective walk away. Then picked up his pen and returned to his paperwork.


	3. The Going - Part 2

_Baker Street_

Sherlock Holmes stands across Baker Street from 221B, smoking a cigarette and gazing at his home. He knows every brick, every stone, every sound and scent from Speedy’s and how they would permeate throughout the flat, every squeak and groan the old building could make. He looks up at the roof, remembering sitting up there, sometimes with John, sometimes not, thinking and smoking while looking over London. He looks at the windows, remembering gazing outward while playing his violin. He looks at the door knocker, remembering how his obnoxious brother _always_ messes with it, just to annoy him, while announcing his presence so that Sherlock can be prepared upon returning home. He remembers when two men first entered through that doorway, on their way to becoming flatmates. Remembers dashing out of that door on the way to some exciting adventure, then crawling back home bloody and beaten time after time, while giggling together with John Watson.

Finishing his cigarette, Sherlock crushes the butt under his heel as he crosses the street to enter the flat. He goes up the seventeen steps slowly this time, wary of all the memories swirling around him. He hangs up his Belstaff and scarf, gazing at them for a bit, studying their details and basking in their memories. He turns and slowly circles the perimeter of the sitting room, fingertips lightly brushing over everything from books to sheet music to the skull. He does the same with the kitchen, then enters his bedroom. He changes his clothes, hanging his suit back in the wardrobe, putting on black jeans, t-shirt and hoody. He goes back out to the sitting room, stands in the center of the flat, and turns slowly, taking it all in, remembering, absorbing the essence of his life there. He inhales a deep breath, and when he exhales, he walks out the door, closing it behind him, and goes slowly down the stairs.

There is no answer when he knocks on the door to 221A, and no sounds are forthcoming from the flat. Sherlock picks the lock and goes in, looking around this flat like he did upstairs, remembering his dear landlady-not-housekeeper and surrogate mother. He finds some paper and leaves a letter behind, thanking her for all she had done for him. He is sorry that he cannot tell her in person. He locks the door after himself, takes one long last look from the hallway, then leaves Baker Street.

 

_Mycroft_

It is full evening. Sherlock approaches his brother’s London home; the place Mycroft stays during the week to be closer to his offices. Sherlock debates breaking through his brother’s security measures as he usually does, but he doesn’t have the energy for it tonight. He walks up to the front door and rings the bell.

Mycroft is in his study, sitting in one of the wingback chairs in front of the fire, drinking a brandy. He gets up to pour one for Sherlock as he takes his place in the other chair. “So, brother mine, to what do I owe this nocturnal visitation?”

Sherlock silences his brother with a look of pure defeat. “I am lost, Mycroft. My entire life has been a lie. Lies upon lies upon lies. My only solid truth, my own brain, has betrayed me and conjured up a fictitious existence that I have believed to be my life. Who am I? My entire personality changed overnight. Who was I supposed to have been? What kind of life was I supposed to have lived? Would I have had friends? Would I have been …”

“Normal?” asked Mycroft, quietly. “Who knows? You still would have had your genius intellect. How things would have played out, we will never be able to determine. I am sorry for my part in this deception. I made mistakes that were compounded by further mistakes. None of this should ever have happened.”

“But it did!” yelled Sherlock, as he jumped up to pace the room. “And I have to live it. I’ve been blind, and ignorant, and I abhor not knowing!” He stops pacing to stand before his brother. “I don’t blame you, Mycroft, but I have nothing left to hold on to. I don’t exist.” He falls dejectedly into his chair. “I don’t think that I can be Sherlock Holmes any longer. I don’t know who I am.”

“You are my brother, that has not changed nor will it ever,” said Mycroft with concern. “If being Sherlock Holmes is too much for right now, you will always be my brother, Will.”

“No,” said Sherlock, crestfallen, “I am no-one. It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. I have to go. I have to Just. Go. Away.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mycroft, worriedly. “Where are you going? When will you return?”

“Just Away,” answered Sherlock. “Don’t worry, I will need to stay sane and sober in order to stay Away. You have no need to worry for me.”

With that, he stood up and quietly walked out.


	4. Away

Portobello, New Zealand. The city on the opposite side of the globe from London. That’s where Sherlock is heading. That should be far enough Away for John Watson, shouldn’t it? One would think an entire planet between them should suffice. Of course, in theory, anywhere outside of John Watson’s visual range should count as Away, so there really isn’t any rush to get to Portobello. It’s just nice to have a destination in mind.

The man formerly known as Sherlock Holmes left London with only the clothes on his back. His previous time away, after the Fall, [ _not that damned Fall again!_ ] had given him lots of experience in travelling far distances with zero resources, just his cunning and his intelligence. This time he doesn’t have to hide, and he doesn’t have to kill anyone. Just pass on through on his way to the other side of the world. He eats when he is hungry, which for him is about every three days or so. He sleeps when he crashes down from exhaustion.

He uses a different name every time he reaches another country. He began as William Noone [no-one] while in France, then Will Personne [nobody in French] while in Italy. Each time he takes the word for ‘nobody’ in the language of the country he left behind. Just a little game, to remind himself of his lack of existence in humanity. He is a ghost, a non-entity, just passing through.

 

_Six months later_

William Oraana is existing in a small bedsit in Portobello. He is keeping the Javanese version of his new name, adopted from travelling across Indonesia – Australia was too bloody English to bother with changing it again.

He walks his new home, taking in the sights, sounds, scents – but not cataloguing them for future reference, his former mind palace is a total ruin, still too dangerous to visit let alone any attempt at repair. He finds the ocean calming, so he spends his days sitting on a rocky overlook, watching the slowly-changing seascape before him. The rhythm of the waves is soothing to his battered psyche. He lets it just wash over him, experiencing it for what it is.

One day a shadow falls on the rocks next to him. A vaguely familiar voice asks, “Is this seat taken?” Will snaps his head around to look up into the face of –Ella Thompson. The shock of seeing someone from his past, someone he trusts, someone who _knows_ … it’s all too much. He crumbles into a sobbing mess as she quickly sits and embraces him, letting him work through the long-buried emotions.

Ella stays in Portobello. They use the sitting room in her hotel suite for a therapy office. Some days when they don’t have a therapy session, they spend some time seeing the sights. Ella emphasizes the fact that she is available any time in her professional capacity. She keeps in touch with Mycroft and has skype sessions with John.

Occasionally they skype with Mycroft, when Will feels strong enough to try to deal with his past. Mycroft provides a true history they can use to build Will’s on together. There are tears, there is anger, there is pain, but there is also progress. About three months in, there’s finally a breakthrough.

Ella opens her door to a breathless William, who looks like he’s been running from the outer reaches of the island. “Ella, Ella, can we call Mycroft, I need to tell you, I want to tell you both,” he pants, obviously excited about something. Once the connection is made and Will is sitting down, though practically vibrating with energy, he begins. “I didn’t sit on the rocks today. I walked down to the beach and stood on the sand. The water would come up and wash the sand over my feet, then go back out with the waves. Suddenly I realized that the sand was moving around and against ME! I … AM! I exist! I am REAL! I am a person!”

Will is grinning at the other two after sharing his epiphany. Mycroft has his hand to his mouth and tears running down his face. Ella is grinning from ear to ear. “That’s an amazing breakthrough, Will!” she exclaims.  “I am so very happy for you!”

Will looks at his brother on the screen and sobers up a bit. “Mycroft, I am real. I am a person. I am a man, a human being, with thoughts and emotions and scars and warts, but I am REAL. And I have a name.” He takes a breath and sits up a bit straighter. “My name is William Holmes.”


	5. The Renewal - Part 1

Now that William has a core identity, healing commences quickly. He skypes with Mycroft nearly daily, sometimes together with Ella, working on self-esteem issues, trust issues, family issues. But mostly, both Holmes boys are getting to know their brand-new brother. They are building a new relationship as adults based on respect. The inside joke is that they both may begin to like each other after all this.

Mycroft is invaluable to William with his help in rebuilding a new mind palace. They must start from the foundation and build an entirely new structure. The old memories are scattered throughout the ruins of the old, leaving land mines and traps nearly every step of the way. It is slow going, but Mycroft will not risk his brother’s sanity and emerging personality by rushing things. The basics come first, while the traumatic bits are stored away safely until William is strong enough to face them.

Then one day, William is disconnecting from Mycroft when Ella gets another skype call. It’s from John Watson. Ella shoos Will out the door, mumbling about patient confidentiality, and takes the call with John.

Will goes back to sit on the rocks and contemplate the ocean. He is surprised that he hasn’t even thought about John Watson for months. The memories he has been digging through are mostly from his childhood and uni years, before John entered the picture. Now he sits and watches the seascape and carefully sifts through his memories of his once-best friend.

The memories don’t quite feel right. It’s almost as if Will is watching a movie of his former life. There were good times with John, and the not-so-good ones. But the horrible ones, where Will would gladly sacrifice himself on the altar of John Watson, those don’t sit very well at all. He realizes that not only would he have gladly fallen on his sword for John, he would have gone out of his way to run full speed into the blade. He’s not that man anymore. And he doesn’t know quite how he feels about that.

The next day Will goes to talk to Ella about his feelings concerning John. She hands him an envelope, explaining that John has been asking about him and how he’s been doing. She convinced John to write a letter to William and email it to her address as an attachment. She has printed it out unread, and hands it to him. “Read it at your leisure, Will. If you want to respond, you may. If not, that’s alright, too. You are totally in control of this relationship at this point.”

He goes home to read John’s letter. It’s two typewritten pages, and he smiles to think of how long it would have taken John to tap that out using his two-finger method. He shakes himself a bit to clear the memory and begins to read.

_Dear William,_

_Yeah, it’s taking me twice as long to type this up as I have to keep deleting Sherlock and replacing it with William, so forgive me if I miss a few._

_That whole mess with your sister on that island was really, well, you know how it was. Trying to kill us all, trying to get us to kill each other, it was a right bloody mess. I still have nightmares about it. But it was so very much worse for you than for me. You were thrown into an entire new history you knew nothing about, and had to work with that disadvantage to save us all. [which you did, by the way, and I do thank you for that]_

_I am sorry, ~~Sher~~ William, that I wasn’t more help to you than I was. I knew you were struggling, but I never realized to what extent. Here you went and lost your entire self! The persona of Sherlock Holmes was quite a large one to lose!_

_Ella says that you’ve found a new identity now, as William. Seeing as how that was your birth identity, it makes sense that you would revert to that now. I hope that it is enough for you to stand tall in and be proud of yourself. This is obviously the second time now that you’ve had to re-invent yourself. Not an easy task for anyone, especially alone. I am very grateful that Ella found you and was able to help._

_This is where I need to apologize to you, William. I should have helped you. I should have been able to see [all right, observe!] how difficult a time you were having. If I had just stopped to think things through, the sheer depth of the blow to your psyche should have given me pause. But, no. What do I do but drown you in the old Watson temper. I am so sorry, William. You didn’t deserve that from me. I’ve been a horrible friend to you, more often than not, and you still seem to come back for more. That’s not really healthy, ~~She~~ William._

_That day at Ella’s. I barely remember what I said, and then you were gone. I didn’t mean it the way you took it. I was so overwhelmed with all the shite that had been dumped on us, and I just wanted it all to just STOP, and, yes, ‘go away.’ My GOD, Sherlock, I didn’t mean YOU! I didn’t want you to go away, honest. To think that I caused you to have the final meltdown that cost you your very SELF! You must hate me. For certain, your brother must. I will never forgive myself for hurting you this badly, especially over a stupid phrase I didn’t mean anything by._

_Stay strong, William. You’ve made such good progress, I hope you find your self [doesn’t THAT sound cliché!] and make the best of your new life. I am very, very proud of you for coming so far. You’re a good man, William Holmes. Thank you for allowing me to call you my friend, and for the best years of my life._

_John Watson_


	6. The Renewal - Part 2

William has tears in his eyes when he gets to the end of the letter. He reads it again, and again, faster and faster each time. “What does he mean?” he yells to the sky, “Is he saying goodbye? He’s not saying goodbye, is he? He can’t say goodbye, I won’t let him say goodbye, that can’t be goodbye, WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!?”

William runs back to Ella’s with the letter crumpled in his fist, tears streaming down his face. He begs her to call John, she HAS to call John, he doesn’t know WHAT THIS MEANS!!

Ella finally gets him to sit down, convinces him that since John is one of her patients he won’t vanish into thin air if they don’t contact him RIGHT NOW, and they discuss William’s reaction to the letter and his emerging feelings about John.

They agree to contact John later that evening, as there is a 12-hour time difference to consider. “How would John feel being hit with all this heavy emotion in the middle of the night, William?” “Oh. A bit not good, then.”

He gets Ella to call Mycroft instead [“time doesn’t mean anything to him, he’s always awake, he’s the British government, for God’s sake!”] and they have another mind palace session concentrating on Will’s memories of John Watson, touching on the emotions while leaving the trauma safely tucked away for now.

“Mycroft,” says Will, thoughtfully, “I think I truly loved John Watson. He was my entire focus of existence. His happiness was all that was important to me. I would do anything for him.”

“That may be partly love,” answered Mycroft, “but you let it get too far into obsession. You lost yourself in favor of him. He wouldn’t have wanted that from you, Will. Ella can help you deal with this in a healthier way.”

They ring off to allow Mycroft a few hours of sleep and Will time to digest his feelings before contacting John. Does he still love John? Does he still want to? Why did the letter send him into a panic? _[He’s Sherlock Holmes, he does not panic!]_

_\---What??_

William notices a pattern developing. When he leaves to deal with things, he expects everything and everyone in his life to be put on hold until he returns to deal with them. It happened with the Fall, it happened with the drugs, and it’s happening now. He can take time out to get his head together, but panics at the thought of John leaving to do the same. Bit not good, that.

Finally, Ella agrees to contact John. When the connection is made, both men sit in front of their screens gazing at the other, tears streaming down both faces. William reaches up to touch the screen where John’s face is. “Hello, John.”

John does the same on his side. He takes in a shaky breath. “Oh, my God, I’ve broken you. I’ve broken Sherlock Holmes. I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Two thumbs are rubbing over pixelated cheekbones on their respective computer screens. “John,” says William, “I don’t know if I can be Sherlock Holmes anymore.”

“That’s fine,” jumps in John, “that’s really fine. You don’t have to be if you don’t want to. You could still be a detective as William Holmes, you’re still the most observant man on the planet. You just don’t have to be such an arrogant bastard about it. Or if you want to explore your music as a profession, you would excel at that! You can make that instrument weep, or sing, or dance, or sparkle like fireworks! You would be amazing. Or, you could, I don’t know, try fishing or whatever, it doesn’t matter. As long as you are happy, William, that’s all that matters.”

“But what if we don’t go on cases anymore?” asked William. “What about you?”

“It’s not about me,” answered John. “It’s not about anyone other than you. No-one, not your brother, not your parents, not me, not anyone has the right to tell you what to do. And I don’t care if you call yourself William or Sherlock or Bob’s your bloody uncle, you’re still my best friend. That hasn’t changed, and it never will.”

“You still consider me your friend?” Will asked, his voice quavering.

“Of course, I do! Of course, you’re my friend. You’re my best friend. You always will be.”

“John,” Will began hesitantly, “I … I’m not well, my mind palace is in tatters, there’s quite a bit of buried trauma I need to deal with. I may not be very easy to live with for quite some time.”

“William,” said John, “you have made so much progress, and worked so hard. You’ve come a very long way. Look at me. I haven’t even gotten over the first step yet. I am terribly broken and continually hurt the best friend I’ve ever had for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I may as well just shoot myself in the foot. You probably don’t want to be stuck with me for a long, long time.”

“You know, John, Ella is very good at what she does. But you do have to give her the data she needs to work with.”

“Think we should sign up for more joint sessions?”

Will smiled. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

Just then a small voice cried “Daddy!” from behind John. He turned around and said to his daughter, “Oh, hello, sweetheart. Um, William, is it alright, I mean, do you want to say hi to Rosie?”

Will froze. He blinked. He blinked again. “Rosie?” he whispered. “Yes, please.”

John picked Rosie up and sat her on his lap. No longer a baby, she was a walking, talking toddler. “William, this is Rosie. Rosie, say hi to William.”

“Daddy, Lock! Lock, Daddy!” she said, banging a chubby hand against the screen.

William was stunned. “She can’t … how … she can’t possibly know me, John.”

John answered, “We have photos, and I talk about you all the time. Of course, she knows you as Sherlock, but we can work out the name thing later when you get home.”

“Home?”

“You are coming home, aren’t you? Sometime?” John sighed. “Or have I finally lost you for good?”

“No, no,” answered William, “I just … I didn’t think … I guess … I guess that’s really on me now, isn’t it?” He watches Rosie bang her block against the table top repeatedly. “We can’t go back to how we were, John, we just can’t. We’ll kill each other.”

“I know,” answered John quietly. “We have to work together and with Ella and make conscious decisions about how we’re going to move forward. I’m sorry that I’m still such a mess. I want to be here for you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I feel the same, John. We’ll just have to try and help each other.”

They sat and smiled at each other for a minute, then John noticed the time. “Sorry, but I’ve got to dash, I have a shift at the clinic this morning. Let me know when you’re coming home, and we’ll meet you at the airport, yeah?”

“Yes,” answered William, “I would like that. Very much. Until later, John.”

“Later, William. Say bye-bye, Rosie.”

“Bye-bye Lock, bye-bye!”

After they disconnected, William sat and stared at the blank screen for a few minutes, trying to come to grips with everything running through his mind. After a bit, Ella said gently, “So, are we going back to England?”

Will jumped a bit, startled, and said, “Yes, yes, I guess so. Whenever.” He looked lost in thought. “Ella, I don’t know if I should be William or Sherlock.”

Ella smiled at him and asked, very slowly, “What is your name?”

He looked at her and blinked a few times. Then he smiled back and said, “My name is William. Sherlock. Scott. Holmes.”


End file.
